


I Never Liked the Rain (until I walked through it with you)

by maybe_we_were



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, POV Natasha Romanov, Past, Protective Steve Rogers, Red Room, Thunder and Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 03:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6937330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybe_we_were/pseuds/maybe_we_were
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thunderstorms make Natasha anxious.  Steve helps calm her down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Never Liked the Rain (until I walked through it with you)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I saw Captain America: Civil War, and while I liked it, I'm not happy about Steve's new love interest. Soooo...I wrote this fic instead. :) I do realize this may be way OOC for both Steve and Natasha, so I apologize in advance for that. Still, I felt the concept was an interesting idea. In my head, this would take place some time before AOU. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> As always, these guys don't belong to me or they would be together.

Natasha hates to admit it, but serious thunderstorms make her nervous.

It started when she was young, partaking in a training exercise for the Red Room that dealt with target practice.  A small group of girls and herself were in an outside courtyard, practicing with their pistols, when a storm rolled in.  There was no warning.  The skies grew eerily dark and then _crack_ , as a flash of lightning hit the tree to the side of the courtyard. It was the kind of lightning and thunder that makes the ground shake, and in this case, split the beautiful Manchurian Walnut in half.  Seeing that kind of raw power, a power that can’t be controlled, nonetheless, left a lasting impression on her. 

After that, seeing that type of storm always reminds her of her time in the Red Room.  It isn’t so much that she’s scared, but she certainly isn’t fond of them either.  So when a bad storm hits New York, it’s tough to hide her feelings about it.

She’s in the living room with Steve, doing some paperwork on the computer while Steve reads a book on the couch that is perpendicular to the one she’s on.  It’s late, about eight o’clock, though it isn’t unusual for her to work into the evening.

The already dark sky seems to grow darker, before rain starts to hit the windows.  Natasha thinks nothing of it, until she sees what was a light sprinkle turn into a downpour.  She looks up at the surrounding windows where she can see the lightning flash.  It’s far away, a couple of miles, so she continues the task at hand.  That is, until the storm moves closer and the lights flicker.  She quickly closes her laptop and unplugs it so the battery doesn’t get fried, and debates what her next move should be.

Steve must have a similar idea, dog earring his page and setting the book on the edge of the coffee table in front of him. 

“Well, that looks pretty nasty,” he notes, tilting his head towards the flash of light streaking through the window.  She nods in response as he moves off the couch and heads towards the kitchen.  She’s thinking of going to look for a flashlight, in case the power decides to go out, when she hears Steve call from the kitchen.

“Any idea where we keep the matches?”

Luckily, she does.

“They’re in the drawer next to the oven,” she says, turning her head in his direction. 

Steve opens the correct drawer and pulls out the matches, then makes his way back to the living room.  He tilts the match on its side and strikes it, lighting the candles that are placed around the room. 

“In case the lights go out,” he explains.

Just as he says that, a bright flash of light and a quickly following rumble of thunder occurs.  The lights flicker and go out completely, leaving them in the dark, save for the two candles Steve managed to light. 

“Good timing, right?” Steve comments, seemingly unfazed, then sits back down on the couch he previously occupied.  She’s sure he is expecting a response, but she’s frozen in her spot.  Her mind goes back to her time in the Red Room and all they made her do.  It makes her stomach jump, and not in a good way.

“Nat?” she hears, but it sounds far away.

“Natasha, are you alright?”

If she wasn’t in such a daze, she would have noticed Steve rise from his seat.  She _does_ feel the couch dip a little, a warm hand covering her back.  The movement snaps her back to reality.  She turns her head slightly to the right to give her response.

“I’m fine.  Just not a big fan of storms like this.” 

She doesn’t tell him that they make her anxious or that they remind her of her past.  He acknowledges what she said with a brisk nod and leaves it at that, which she appreciates.

“Come here,” he requests, asking her to close the space between them.  They have grown a lot closer over the last couple of months, so his prompt isn’t weird or unexpected.  She knows he can tell she is uncomfortable, and he wants to help.

She does as she’s asked and Steve leans back a little, then tentatively starts to rub his hand up and down her back.  It soothes her, as the storm continues to rage on outside.  Steve doesn’t say anything, just trails his warm fingers along her spine.  She sneaks a couple of glances at him, admiring the way the candlelight moves across his face, defining his chin, nose, and cheekbones.  She focuses on the feel of his thigh pressed against hers, the way her skin is heated through the fabric of her t-shirt by his hand.  Just looking at him is a welcome distraction.

His eyes meet and hold hers, a couple of beats longer than most would be comfortable with, but doesn’t bother her at all.  She’s looking straight back at him, when a bolt of lightning strikes so close, it makes the building shake. 

Her eyes widen and she subconsciously jumps, which leads Steve to slide his hand so it’s along the side of her waist.  In seconds, he pulls them down so they are laying lengthwise on the couch, grabs the blanket from the back and covers them up so they are cocooned. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice close to her ear.  His arm hitches around her middle and he curls around her, lining her body with his own.  They both know that all they can do is wait the storm out.  The silver lining to the situation is at least she’s not alone and she’s with someone she trusts. 

She is surprised when Steve starts to talk.

“Sometimes, when a storm was far enough away, my mom would go out and sit on our covered stoop.  She liked hearing the rain fall, seeing the lightning flash, and potentially spotting a rainbow afterwards.” 

He breathes out for a moment before continuing on.

“On days when I was well enough, which wasn’t often, I was able to go out with her.  On days I couldn’t, she would open the window a little to let fresh air in.  You know the way it smells after it rains?  She said it helped air out the house.”

He’s silent for a few seconds, then chuckles to himself.

“Honestly, it’s funny she thought the house needed airing out, because it always smelled great.  Sort of like fresh baked pie or honey.  And she kept it really clean.  I swear, she dusted, swept the floor, and mopped every day.”

She listens as he keeps talking.  The more he talks, the more he opens up about his past.  She realizes it’s therapeutic for him, speaking about those he lost, while it effectively calms her down.   She’s been listening to what he’s been saying rather than keeping track of the storm outside.  He goes on, telling her funny stories, happy stories, and other stories about his childhood.  Her body relaxes into his and she becomes so calm that she falls asleep to the quiet litany of his words.

 

* * *

 

She wakes up a while later, disoriented when she identifies that she’s in her own bed.  The clock on the nightstand says it’s one in the morning, meaning she’s been out for at least three hours.  She’s not entirely sure when she nodded off, or how long Steve talked to her. 

The room is completely dark though, signaling that the storm has passed.  She briefly wonders how she got here, while her senses adjust to her surroundings.  Her eyes stray past the nightstand to the arm chair that Clint no longer needed to find Steve asleep there, his head laying on his left shoulder.  She can only imagine how his neck will feel in the morning.  As to how she arrived here, odds are he carried her here, then tucked her under the covers and stationed himself nearby.

She smiles, thinking of how he helped her through the storm and hopes he’s around the next time a storm rolls in.  Although she doesn’t do it often, maybe next time she’ll be the one to open up.


End file.
